Shades of Life
by My Dear Professor McGonagall
Summary: Seven parts of the day they buried Albus Dumbledore, from the eyes of Filius Flitwick, Septima Vector, Pomona Sprout, Severus Snape, Poppy Pomfrey, and Minerva McGonagall.
1. Red: Filius Flitwick

**Red: Leadership, Confidence, Command**

Filius stood before his mirror and adjusted the collar of his robes, sighing inwardly. He glanced out the window. It was too beautiful a day to do what he had to do.

He consulted his watch. Of course he was ready more than two hours early. He didn't think he could bear to sit in the Great Hall, see his students, his friends and colleagues, so he sank down in his armchair.

The worn, faded seat was bright red. It had been a gift from Albus, to brighten up Filius' quarters when he first became a full-time staff member. He was thirty-five years old then, and leaving behind a world of dueling championships and excitement to be a professor at Hogwarts.

"I think it will look very nice there," Albus had told him, gesturing to the armchair. Filius stood in the headmaster's office, and nodded. "Are you eager to start your teaching?"

"Yes, headmaster," Filius said with a slight smile.

"I think," Albus said, "that we can go by our first names here, Filius. You are no longer a student here, you are a member of my staff, and I am pleased to have you as such."

"Thank you, head—Albus," Filius said. "I'm pleased to be here."

Albus scrutinized him carefully over his half-moon glasses. "Something is troubling you, Filius," he said. "Has something upset you?"

"No," Filius said quickly. "I—well—just nerves, I suppose. I've never taught a class before. I'm afraid I don't know how to do it," he admitted sheepishly. "I don't exactly command the attention of a room." His height and half-blood status was not a subject Filius broached lightly.

"Don't you?" Albus asked curiously. "Why, I've heard about and seen a great many of your duels where you singlehandedly bested your opponent in a matter of minutes, and you most certainly commanded the room."

"A duel is not the same as a classroom," Filius answered. "In a duel, you need willpower, determination to take the lead over the opponent. In a classroom, you need—"

"Leadership," Albus said gently. "You must take leadership over your students, and that requires a great deal of willpower. I would not have selected you for the post had I not seen the qualities I required in an effective teacher, Filius, make no mistake."

Filius stood before him, his mouth falling open slightly. "I—I don't know what to say," he said.

Albus walked around the desk. "You may say, 'Thank you for the chair,'" he suggested with a twitch of his beard.

Now, Filius sat in that very armchair, staring at the stone floor. Albus had been right about him; he had become a leader of a whole generation of young witches and wizards. But he had received his own lessons in leadership from a man who could command attention by simply standing up.

Albus had given Filius an ironclad reason to always take charge; people needed leadership, and young people needed it more than anyone else. Filius would be a leader in the days to come, and protect his students fiercely, no matter what. With that, Filius stood, smoothed the red upholstery, and left for the Great Hall.

Such is the duty of a leader.


	2. Orange: Septima Vector

**Orange: Enthusiasm, Encouragement, Success**

"I can't do this," Septima muttered to herself as she entered the staffroom. "What was I thinking? I'm completely mental, I _can't do this_!"

"Of course you can, my dear," Professor Dumbledore said, leaning out from one of the winged chairs by the fire. Septima jumped and crashed backward into a chair. "Oh, I do apologize, Septima, I didn't mean to frighten you."

"'S fine," Septima assured him, rubbing her heart to stop its racing. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" Professor Dumbledore asked, closing the book he had been reading and leaning forward. "Come, sit down." He gestured to the other chair.

Septima looked around her, wondering if he was serious. Then, slowly, she went to sit with the headmaster.

"Now," he said, settling back into his chair. "What seems to be troubling you, Septima?"

Septima blinked at the use of her first name. When she had been a student at Hogwarts, it was always "Miss Vector." Now, just seven years out of school, she was the newest, youngest teacher on staff. She didn't answer him right away, looking down into her hands. Then, much to her embarrassment, she began to feel tears fill her eyes.

"Why, Septima," Professor Dumbledore said in a tone of surprise. "Come now, it's all right."

"I'm sorry," Septima said, trying to regain composure. Professor Dumbledore smiled and patted her hand.

"Take your time," he said gently.

Septima nodded, staring at a vase of bright orange flowers sitting on the mantle and taking several deep breaths. "Well, I…I just don't think I'm right for this job," she said finally. "I don't have the patience to stay in a classroom and lecture all day. I'm too—enthusiastic. But I just had a seventh-year Arithmancy class, and they didn't take me seriously at all! Probably because I went to school with some of their older siblings," she added, snorting. Then Septima looked up at Professor Dumbledore desperately. "I'm not right for all this. I'm not supposed to make them laugh and be their friend, I'm supposed to make them learn something."

Professor Dumbledore nodded, considering what she had said. "Tell me, my dear," he said, folding his hands. "Who was your favorite teacher while you were here?" Septima opened and closed her mouth, looking over her shoulder again. Professor Dumbledore smiled. "I promise, I won't tell anyone."

Septima looked into her lap. "Professor Flitwick," she said.

"Ah, that's very interesting," said Professor Dumbledore, his smile widening. He got to his feet and walked to the mantle. "And what was it about Professor Flitwick that made him your favorite?"

Septima shrugged. "He was always there for us," she said. "Even for the others who weren't in Ravenclaw. He's always so happy to help people."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "I see a great deal of Filius' style in you, Septima," he said after a moment. He reached a long-fingered hand for one of the fiery orange flowers. "You are eager, excited, and you care very deeply about what you teach. All you need to do now is find out the best way to channel that into your relationship with the students." He smiled, turning to hand her the blossom. "There is not a doubt in my mind that you will be one of the most successful teachers on staff in no time."

Septima started to smile, taking the flower. "Thank you, Professor."

Nearly four years later, Septima lay fully clothed on a bed in the hospital wing, tears pouring down her cheeks. She couldn't face the day. She couldn't say goodbye to the man who had given her nothing but encouragement and support for almost twenty years.

Poppy came down the ward, her face pale and her eyes red. She wore black robes instead of her customary apron. "Septima?" she said, coming closer. "It's nearly time. Do you need any help?"

Septima shook her head, wiping her tears away. "I'll be all right." She sat up slowly, her head spinning. Her injuries from the battle had largely healed, but she still wasn't back to herself. She straightened her black robes and leaned on the bedside table, getting to her feet.

When she managed to stand, Septima looked out the window of the hospital wing, tears still in her eyes. The day was beautiful. She felt Poppy's hands on her arms.

"Come along, dear," Poppy said softly.

"Just a minute," Septima told her. She reached for her wand and drew a small circle with it in the air. An orange ribbon streamed from it and tied itself around her wrist. She smiled to herself, and turned to face Poppy. "All right."


	3. Yellow: Pomona Sprout

**Yellow: Joy, Energy**

Pomona sniffled, unable to look at the other attendees, who were filing solemnly into seats all around her. She pulled out her bright yellow handkerchief and froze. Where had that come from? She must have slipped it in her pocket without thinking…tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

Some four and a half years earlier, a bad bug circulated among all the students and teachers, and Pomona had been unfortunate to wake up with it one morning in early December. Unable to find the time to get to Poppy for a remedy, she had gone about her classes sniffling and coughing, completely miserable.

In the late afternoon, Pomona was casting warming charms on the Mandrakes in greenhouse three, barely able to keep her eyes open. She was exhausted, but the little plants would freeze if she did not take care of them. She turned away to cough loudly, and jumped when she saw Albus standing in the door.

"Good afternoon, Pomona," he said cheerfully, striding in.

"Afternoon, headmaster," Pomona replied, quickly sniffing and stifling a yawn. Her voice was hoarse from coughing.

"Pomona, are you ill?" asked Albus, concerned. "You don't look well at all."

"I'm fine, headmaster," she told him, cursing her tiredness. She really had to get to Poppy. "I expect you're here about the Mandrakes? They're doing very we—ah-choo!"

"Dear me," Albus said, pulling out a yellow handkerchief and giving it to Pomona. "You seem to have caught this flu that's been going around. Let me take you to the hospital wing."

"Albus, that's not necessary," Pomona said. Then she sneezed loudly four times in a row into the little yellow hanky.

"I insist," Albus told her, a twinkle in his eye. "You look exhausted. You need rest, and possibly some hot chocolate. I always find that it makes me feel better." Pomona was too tired to argue, and allowed herself to be led from the greenhouse.

When they reached the hospital wing, Pomona tried to return his handkerchief.

"Keep it, my dear," he told her. "Until you have that wonderful energy back."

And with that, Albus swept away, humming to himself. It was so comical, Pomona couldn't help but laugh.

In her seat beside the other staff members, Pomona stared at the handkerchief twisted in her hands. She had never returned the soft yellow silk, quite by accident. She didn't suppose he'd mind. Albus' greatest joy had always been in sharing what he had with others, be it love, friendship, or a hanky. Pomona smiled and wiped away her tears.


	4. Green: Severus Snape

**Green: Cowardice**

Severus stared out the tiny window of his attic room in Malfoy manor. He'd been hidden there for three days. It was only a matter of time before the Aurors came calling. Doubtlessly, Potter would have told them who cast the curse that had slain Albus Dumbledore.

They would lay Dumbledore to rest today, on the grounds. Narcissa had been bringing Severus the paper every morning. He wondered if he would ever get to see the grave of the last man on earth who didn't think him a coward. Then he wondered if he'd ever see the only place he could call home again, short of leading an army of murderers straight through it.

Murderers. He couldn't talk of them like they were any different than he was. After all, he'd murdered Lily sixteen years ago in a moment of betrayal, and just three days ago, in a green flash, he'd murdered the greatest wizard of all time. Dumbledore could call it whatever he liked, but murder was murder and dead was dead. Severus' lip curled.

Potter had called him a coward. The lying spawn of that sorry excuse for a man—with Lily's green eyes. Severus shook himself. Potter understood nothing, and never had. Not that Severus expected anything less. He scowled. The last person to trust him, to even attempt to understand him, was gone by his hand.

That was that, then. He was done. He was ready to end this war, and Dumbledore's death was the last step to doing that. Like Potter, Severus was destroying the things that tied him to life. His death was imminent. He had served his purpose. Whether it was a day, a month, or a year from now, Severus knew that he would die. He squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes.

That flash of green was not a coward's act.


	5. Blue: Poppy Pomfrey

Blue: Health, Tranquility, Understanding

Poppy walked into her quarters once she had gotten Septima back to bed, wiping her tears as she stood before her mirror. She sank onto her bed, sighing. On her bedside table sat a framed photograph, the only one she kept out where she could see it. In the picture, Poppy's own, much younger face was laughing up at her, one arm around a young Minerva's neck. As Poppy watched, Minerva smiled reluctantly, though she looked glad to be with her friend.

Poppy picked up the frame and touched the faces. Minerva looked so different—her hair was shorter, only half-tied-back. She didn't even have her spectacles on; she'd only needed them for reading, in those days. This had been taken before Elphinstone had died, Poppy remembered.

Albus had taken this photograph the day that he had hired Poppy to work at Hogwarts. She had been wearing powder blue robes, the uniform of her Healer training program. Minerva had already been teaching for four years by that time. She and Albus had arranged to meet Poppy at the Hog's Head, where she would give him her answer about taking over the job of matron.

"I haven't finished my training," Poppy had insisted.

Minerva scoffed. "Poppy, you're the best in the course," she said. Poppy blushed.

"Now, Minerva," Albus said gently. "Go on, Poppy." He faced her, his blue eyes kind.

"I haven't finished my training," Poppy said again, starting to smile. "But I've wanted for a long time to come back to Hogwarts. I just don't think I would like working at St. Mungo's. If the post is still offered, I would love to accept."

Minerva grinned. Albus' eyes lit up.

"Then let me be the first to say congratulations," he said, extending his hand, which Poppy shook. "You will be most welcome." The barwoman brought over a tray of drinks, setting them in front of their owners. Albus raised his glass of mead. "To the newest member of our staff, and a wonderful Healer." Poppy and Minerva raised their glasses and smiled at one another.

Poppy sighed. She had no more tears to shed. She felt oddly tranquil, the way she always did when faced with an emergency. Except this time, there was no victim to tend to, no pain to relieve, besides that which Poppy felt in her own heart. She looked out the window. The light was fading, and the sky was a beautiful pale blue at the very edges of the horizon.

Poppy gazed down at the picture again, and smiled softly.


	6. Indigo: Minerva McGonagall

**Indigo: Trust, Loyalty**

Minerva hurt, in every sense of the word. Her old wound, the remains of a year-old fight on this very lawn, radiated pain throughout her body. Even worse was the stinging emptiness of the hole that had opened directly in the center of her heart. Her best friend was gone. Forever.

She stood with her hands tightly clasped behind her back on the southern edge of the lake, facing the setting sun. She was determined not to look at the pillar of white on the opposite bank. The sky was a deep, beautiful blue, reflected in the lake below. Silver pinpricks of stars were beginning to show in the summer night sky, and the crescent moon was beginning to rise behind her.

Minerva's tears had stopped hours ago. Her eyes felt dry and scratchy, but she didn't dare close them. She didn't want to see Albus' broken body lying at the foot of the Astronomy tower, as she had in the few fitful moments of sleep she'd managed to get in the last three days.

Albus had trusted her to keep the school safe. He had trusted her, and she had let him down, for the first time in forty years. Those animals, those monsters, had gotten into the school on her watch, and now Albus was gone. She wrapped her arms around herself. She would grieve, she decided, and then she would return to her duties. Loyalty, steadfastness, these were the things that mattered, now more than ever. She would not let her school fall, if it was the last thing she did.

Minerva's chin shook, and she turned her gaze upward into the night sky. She took a deep breath, tracing the constellations with her eyes as they became clearer against the indigo sky.


	7. Violet

Violet: Power, Wisdom, Creativity, Magic

When he died, Albus was not afraid. He simply closed his eyes and released. When he opened them again, he saw many magical and wondrous things. He also saw many painful, sorrowful things.

Ariana's beautiful, smiling face. Aberforth's fist coming straight at him. Harry, circling Tom Riddle in the entrance hall of Hogwarts. Gellert's wand aimed at his heart.

Harry's wedding to Ginny Weasley. Ron Weasley's to Hermione Granger. Albus chuckled at that, he always knew there was something there. Harry had a son, whom he named Albus.

Severus' stony face as he looked out a tiny, dirty window. The last moments of Lily Potter's life. The death of Sirius Black. A basilisk, rearing its ugly head to sink its fangs through Harry.

Cedric Diggory, Myrtle Miller, the only students to die on his watch. His eyes filled with tears. Colin Creevey, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Alastor Moody. Names and faces swirled around him in a mist of confusion.

He laughed and smiled, seeing the faces of Ron, Hermione, and Harry's children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. Lily and James would have been so proud, he thought—and then they stood before him too, happy and youthful as the day he married them. He saw his own flight from Hogwarts, wearing those ridiculous violet robes Minerva had given him that he had so adored.

Filius—Septima—Pomona—Severus—Poppy—Minerva—each of their faces burst clearly into his mind. Severus, the loneliest man Albus had ever known, struck down in cold blood, not even by the Dark Lord's own hand. Poppy caring tenderly for each of her patients. Septima, whom he had barely gotten to know, but who missed him terribly. Filius, strong, true, and wise despite his insecurities. He saw the curse that hit Pomona on the lawn. She went on teaching in chronic pain until she couldn't any longer. Neville Longbottom took her place, Albus saw, smiling broadly.

Minerva. So stoic, the consummate leader, but hurting more than Albus cared to see. So different from the girl she used to be, yet still so wonderful and loyal. She would die a very old woman, peacefully and without pain.

He heard a train whistle—was that what it was? and turned around. Robes settled onto his frame. Before him, facing away, stood Harry. He was transfixed by a small, ugly creature that twitched, lying curled under a chair. And Albus's mind was suddenly clear. He knew what to do.

Harry took a step closer to the creature.

"You cannot help," Albus told him softly.


End file.
